Birthdays, Botox & The Pressure to Have It All

All right.

I'm pretty sure not only is it my birthday, but that, as adults, birthdays are fucking weird.

Okay? They're strange.

When you have birthdays as kids versus now, birthdays were your entire personality trait.

You'd wake up, shitting bricks with excitement, you'd bounce off the walls.

There would be cake.

You'd go on a sugar high.

Now you wake up in an existential crisis, and it's true.

It's true.

We wake up being like, "Oh, my God, where's the year gone? We're here again, yet another birthday." And don't get me wrong, it's exciting.

We love birthdays.

I personally love celebrating other people's birthdays.

That's where I get excitement out of.

I don't necessarily love celebrating mine, albeit it is a really beautiful day of the year.

This morning I did wake up with a little tingle in my bum bum because it was my birthday, and I'm turning 31.

And it's something to celebrate, although, did I feel like having a little bit of a cry today? I did.

I did.

But we're gonna talk about that a little later on, and what that's all about.

Really interesting that the family group chat this morning also popped off.

The first two people to message in the family chat were my brother and my cousin.

I actually nicknamed them Patata Number 1 and Patata Number 2.

Patata means potato in Greek, by the way, guys.

Um, and Patata Number 1 and Patata Number 2 actually said, "Hi, Adele, happy 47th birthday." I'm not 47, I'm actually 31, so shit in your hands and clap for that one.

And then the Patata Number 2 actually said, "Happy Birthday, Dinosaur." So if that didn't kick me while I'm down, that dinosaur comment most certainly did.

So good on ya for that.